


Ruins of Perfection

by g_a_y



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Altea (Voltron), Altean Hunk (Voltron), Altean Lance (Voltron), Altean Pidge | Katie Holt, Altean Prince Lance (Voltron), Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Daibazaal (Voltron), Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Forced Marriage, Galra Keith (Voltron), Galran Prince Keith (Voltron), M/M, Panic Attacks, Slow Burn, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-07-02 01:42:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15786372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/g_a_y/pseuds/g_a_y
Summary: With no other choice but to marry his son off to one of Zarkon's children under the guise of keeping the peace, King Alfor of Altea is devastated. He can only hope that the young prince can forgive him, and learn to live in the midst of navigating love, loss, and life.[Tags to be added as work progresses. Rating is subject to change.]





	1. I Love My Friends

**Author's Note:**

> Times (from the Paladin's Handbook):  
> deca-phoeb - year  
> phoeb - month  
> movement - week  
> quintant - day  
> varga - hour  
> dobosh - minute  
> tick - a tad longer than a second

Lance was bored. He sat slumped in his chair, leaning his head on his hand. Papers were scattered across the table in front of him, as he tried to focus on his studies. Alas, it was futile. Any attempts he made to read his notes just made him, if anything, want to sink into the floor even more. Learning was hard. 

The library had many things to look at - the young boy's blue eyes couldn't settle. Light was streaming in from the large window behind him; golden rays from the setting sun illuminating Lance like an angel (despite being far from one). The shelves were stocked generously with books both new and old, and many artefacts from the outside world dotted the view. It was a shame to waste such a beautiful sight on the boy, really. A short time passed, and he let his vision go out of focus, and pondered some of life's greatest mysteries. After all, there was only so much studying one could take before they were bound to distraction. Thoughts ran through Lance's head - not one settling as they flew by him in a flurry of inquisition: could you invent a potion to cure boredom? How many small children would you have to stack on top of one another before reaching the roof of the chapel? What was Hunk doing at that very moment in time whilst he was stuck in some stupid library? Like I said, he was pondering some of life's greatest mysteries. A further mystery, however, was how he hadn't noticed the library door open and a slender figure walk inside. 

"-ance. Lance, I swear to the high priest if you don't pay attention to me I will throttle you." Ah, it was Allura. Blinking his eyes up at his sister, the boy quirked the corners of his mouth up at the woman with an expression that feigned innocence to the highest power. 

"Always such a charmer, sister. Does your boyfriend know about your homicidal tendencies?" He shot back at her after a moment of staring into the fed-up eyes of the soon-to-be Altean Queen. Crossing his arms in defiance, he quirked an eyebrow at her and stared death in the face – nothing out of the ordinary, then. 

"I'm glad to see you've not slipped into a coma while I've been busy - honestly, you'd think we were making you learn the ins and outs of making toilet paper, or something equally as ridiculous and boring." The woman rolled her eyes, sighing in exasperation before she continued. "I thought you wanted to learn about the different cultures of our world. What's so bad about it?" 

"I wanted to learn about the different cultures by actually going and visiting them! You know, meet the locals, try the food - not this 'laws of the different kingdoms' crap!" Lance threw his arms out, letting them fall and flop down at his sides dramatically. He huffed out a big breath, and a few sheets of paper blew across the table and fluttered to the ground. 

Allura stared at her brother, deadpan. "There's a war. You can't leave the castle. People are dying, Lance." 

"It's like I'm a prisoner in my own home!" His voice cracked hilariously as he raised his voice, now deciding to fling himself across the mahogany desk and promptly knocking over a small pot of ink. He watched in disdain as it spread and dyed his notes black; hours of work destroyed. Still, he did nothing to stop it, only staring with his cheek pressed against the wood at his unfortunate mistake. The Princess giggled. 

"Come on, I'll get you out of here. But you owe me!" She muttered a quiet "honestly" under her breath, shaking her head, and turning to leave the room without stopping to check if Lance was following. He had, of course, sprung out of his chair with vigour at the proposition of escaping the library for even a few minutes. Following after his older sister, the boy glared back at the work he had been doing, before leaving through the double doors on the other side of the room. 

The Princess lead them both to a small sitting room, where a coal fire had been lit and was glowing red, flickering occasionally as a breeze swept by. Closing the door behind them, the pair moved to sit across the plush couches. Two pale blue couches surrounded the fireplace, with a modest coffee table in the centre and a leather armchair pushed into the corner of the room. Despite the room being one of the smallest in the castle, the siblings found comfort in its cosiness. Lance flung himself across the largest of the two couches, wiggling around until he found a comfortable position. Allura took a more graceful approach, smiling fondly at her brother's antics as she sat on the other couch. They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, both watching as the fire danced. Suddenly, Lance sat up and whipped his head around to Allura as if he were possessed. 

"Can I paint your nails?" He asked, eyes lit up with hope. It was an activity that they both had enjoyed since they were young, however in the midst of growing up they hadn't quite found the time to paint each other's nails for a long while. The white-haired woman beamed at him, nodding her head excitedly. 

"Of course! I'll send for someone to get the paints. Oh, and a brush - you can braid my hair too!" It was hard to believe she would be taking over the throne in the near future. In moments like that, Lance wished he could go back in time. To a time with no war, when they were both children. When they could run freely outside the castle walls without a care in the world. The war might not have entered their country yet, but the kingdom was always treading on thin ice, sending resources and troops out to help their allies fight the Galra. It had been 8 years, and the Prince could barely remember a time where there was peace. 

The Princess had all but pranced over to the door and sent a passing maid to fetch what they needed from her quarters, before sitting back down with a smile. The blue-eyed boy had sat up on the couch in the meantime, legs crossed childishly as he grinned at her. 

In no time at all, the maid had returned with a small box, which was old and worn from years of use. The lid hardly closed. Balanced on top of this were a silver brush and a selection of ribbons. After thanking the maidservant, the two got to work. Sliding the lid off of the box, they tipped out the little bottles of nail polish and assorted them on the coffee table. A short time of deliberation later, and the siblings had chosen their colours. For Lance - a simple, shimmering gold. For Allura - a pale pink, to match the marks on her face. 

"So, I'm thinking, you paint my nails first and then I'll paint yours, so mine will dry and I can do your hair while yours dry," the Prince proposed, practically vibrating with excitement. His sister nodded decidedly and Lance, delightedly, spread out his fingers and placed his hands on the wooden surface of the table. Allura unscrewed the golden bottle and with intense focus (and her tongue poking out of her mouth cutely) began to paint. She finished one, two fingernails, dipped the brush back into the bottle for more paint, and a knock sounded loudly on the door. The pair looked up, and Lance frowned. 

"Come in," the Princess called with a clear and authoritative voice, not putting down the brush for their visitor as she began the third nail. The door opened, and a redhead poked his head around it. Lance's frown softened, and Allura smiled. "Coran, is everything alright?" 

"My apologies for interrupting you two, but Allura, the King requires your presence immediately." The man felt awful for interrupting the siblings' rare time together, but there was nothing to be done. 

"Can it not wait?" 

"I'm afraid not, Your Majesty. It is a matter of utmost urgency, and the King would like your input right away." After speaking, Coran retreated from the room and closed the door again, waiting just outside for the Princess' emergence. Allura sighed, putting the brush back into the bottle and apologetically smiling towards her brother, who had deflated immensely during Coran and his sister's interaction. 

"I'm so sorry, Lance." Her voice was laced with guilt, and he smiled up at her, shaking his head. 

"It's fine. You gotta do what you gotta do, I get it. It sounds important. I wouldn't keep father waiting," he said as he picked up the brush. "I'll finish up here." 

Allura nodded, leaving the room and closing the door behind her. The Princess followed Coran to the conference room, while Lance stayed behind. He stared at the little gold bottle, a lump forming in his throat as a hole opened up in his chest. She had important things to do, but it would be nice to spend some quality bonding time with her for once, instead of just quick updates over dinner. It would also be nice to be included, but he was just a child, right? What use would he be? 

With a heavy heart, and feeling somewhat like he wanted to throw up, he finished painting his nails. The gold paint looked dim in his new mindset. He had been cast aside yet again, and didn't that feel great. 

Down the grand corridor and a flight of stairs, behind closed doors, a storm had been brewing. King Alfor - a mighty and righteous leader, and the sixteenth Ruler of Altea since the uprising - had received a message from the evil Emperor Zarkon. A small package arrived with a hooded messenger, and after inspection to make sure the thing wouldn't explode, it was finally delivered to the King. He had opened it, and to say that he was not pleased would most definitely be an understatement. A small screen was projected into the air from the package, playing a simple message. A video showing the Emperor, and his chilling words: 

"Alfor. I have a proposition, and if you do not take it be sure to know that I will begin the siege on your precious mistake of a kingdom. Your son is to marry my youngest; think of it as a peace treaty. Failure to comply will result in the complete decimation of your kingdom. I will be sending guards in the next two movements to collect your son." 

The video cut off after that, leaving much to be desired. King Alfor glared maliciously at the device that had played the message, placing it down beside him before he had the chance to smash it. He would play it to his advisors later, but for now, focused on calming his rapid heartbeat. What was he to do? Surely there was another option than to go to war or to force his youngest child into marriage. He hadn't even reached adulthood, and yet Zarkon was proposing such a scheme. No, he would find another way - before time ran out, too. 

*** 

Staring blankly up at the ceiling, Lance had thrown himself onto the sofa once again after he'd made sure his nails were dry - he was moping, but he hadn't spent the time painting them just to smudge them and have to take the paint off right away. With a blank face, the Prince heaved a heavy sigh. He stared without blinking for a few minutes until his eyes watered (because he hadn't blinked yet, not because he felt useless and unwanted. He did not cry). Then, with a frustrated whine, he sat bolt upright; throwing his legs off of the sofa as if they'd been forced off by an angry ghost. A resolved look on the boy's face and a sudden surge of determination, he set off to find a friend. Days feeling like this were suffocating, but they were always made better with a friend. 

He headed to the kitchens first. It was the first place he always checked as it was where Hunk spent a huge amount of time. In spite of him not being a chef he tended to enjoy cooking, and was majorly better at it than the actual employed cooks - Lance had tried to get him hired in the kitchens, but the other boy had insisted that as much as he did love to make food he just couldn't leave his current position as engineer and blacksmith. If he left that, who would make sure that Pidge ate regularly and slept enough and actually got away from her projects for more than two minutes? 

It was generally unusual for someone of Lance's position (being a member of the royal family, that is) to be friends with servants. But Hunk and Pidge's families worked in the castle, and they had grown up together. That, and Lance was a naturally friendly guy - he loved meeting new people and making new friends. It was part of his charm. So, when he entered the kitchens, the staff didn't stop to blink. Had it been Allura or Alfor, they would've stopped to bow immediately. But with Lance? There was no need for such formalities. He'd insisted on it himself. 

"Hey, Blazdam. Have you seen Hunk anywhere recently?" His attention was aimed at the head chef - an older woman, with a friendly face and a kind smile. She stopped kneading the chunk of dough she'd been working on, and looked up the young Prince. 

"I have not, your highness. I do believe he and Pidge were working on a special project for Coran. Perhaps ask if they're in the workshop?" She suggested in a gentle tone, before going back to her job. Lance's hand carefully reached out to nab a cooling pastry, and she slapped his hand away. "You'll ruin your appetite. Lunch will be ready shortly." 

Pouting, Lance slinked back to the doors. "You're no fun!" He called over his shoulder, childish but joking. "See you later!" He said as the door shut behind him. His next destination was, as Blazdam had suggested, the workshop. It was a large building just on the outskirts of the castle, where the engineers and blacksmiths spent most of their time to develop and build new technologies and weapons. It stunk and was kind of dusty, so Lance wasn't really supposed to go there. Strictly speaking, he wasn't actually allowed inside - it could be dangerous. Not that that stopped him. 

Looking around, he sneaked to the door and pushed it open slightly. The tanned boy slithered inside, his eyes darting around for anyone that might call him out. After a few ticks of gazing around the large room, he spotted them. Pidge and Hunk; his two best friends. They seemed to be tinkering with some kind of robot. It looked small, and not very impressive. Why was this their project? 

Sticking close to the walls, Lance finally made his way along to them. He tapped Hunk on the shoulder, who screamed and jumped into the air. It made people look in their direction, and Lance his behind the larger boy's broad figure. Said boy laughed sheepishly, waving off prying eyes, before looking at his friend. 

"What the hell are you doing here? King Alfor said the next time you're caught in here he would ground you for a month!" He whispered harshly, as Pidge rolled her eyes. 

"Chill out, dude. He always says that. He's just bluffing," Lance retorted quietly, crossing his arms over his chest like the over-dramatic adolescent he was. Pidge shrugged up at him from her place on the floor. She was cross-legged, her hands inside the wiring of the robot. 

"He's right, Hunk. Lance flashes his puppy eyes at him and he's off the hook," she mumbled, glancing up at the two others momentarily before her attention was again on her project. Pursing his lips, Hunk sighed. 

"What's up, man?" He asked with a small smile. 

"I'm in a shitty mood. I was _kinda_ hoping you'd go on an adventure with me?" His eyes were hopeful, and Hunk sighed again. 

"We really have to finish this project for Coran, buddy. Maybe later?" 

"The last time we went on an adventure it ended with you being covered literally from head to toe in mud. Why would we do that again?" Pidge added, sending him a skeptical look. 

"Oh, come on! It was one time! How was I supposed to know it was due to storm?" Lance shot her a grin, before continuing. "Besides, I heard there's a vendor in town selling those fluxa- fluxo-" 

"Fluxomite processors?" 

"Yeah! Those. You were saying how you wanted one and how they're super rare and stuff the other day and then I just _happened_ to hear that someone was selling them so I figured you might want to-" 

"Take a breath, Lance." 

"Right. Thanks, Hunk. Anyway. Want to go to the markets with me and I'll buy you one?" 

"Holy shit. Yes. I'm honestly surprised you were listening to me, though. That was weeks ago." 

"Hey! I take offence to that! I'm a great friend, I always listen to you when you're telling me about nerd stuff!" 

"I beg to differ. Sorry, bud, but whenever we tell you about 'nerd stuff' you always get distracted and end up wandering off. Besides, I don't think this is a very good idea. What if you get caught sneaking out of the castle again? Your dad would kill you-" 

"My dad can suck it! I'm so claustrophobic in here! Just because you have a whole castle to yourself, doesn't negate the fact that you're a prisoner." 

Lance was pouting childishly as usual, but it was obvious that his confinement was getting to him. The distress of not being able to leave shone through his confident demeanour, and Hunk found himself giving in. He hated seeing his friends down in the dumps. Hesitantly, he agreed. 

"Awesome! Okay, meet me just after lunch in the courtyard. And wear disguises." With that and a more positive feeling then he'd had when he entered, Lance sneaked out of the workshop. Talking to his friends, however briefly, always seemed to put him in a good mood. He was blessed to have them. Said friends looked at each other with opposing expressions as soon as the prince left - Hunk was concerned (Lance's excursions rarely ended well), but Pidge was excited. Lance was going to buy her a fluxomite processor! She'd been after one for Gods know how long. 

Now, though, the boy was back to being bored. No doubt his tutor had noticed he had left, but he couldn't really find it in him to care. Ever. With a quiet huff, he wondered to the dining hall. Lunch was supposed to be ready soon, so he decided he would just sit in there and wait. He had nothing better to do, anyway. 

The dining hall was a grand place, with one long table down the centre and large double doors on either side, at the width of the rooms. On one wall was five floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the flower garden. On the other wall was a magnificent fireplace, which kept the room warm during the cooler seasons, and an array of classic paintings. Three crystal chandeliers hung over the table and lit the room with fake candles. Though technology had advanced, the style that the Alteans had was very much the same as it had been hundreds of years ago. Regal and decorative, and overall elegant. Alteans lived for the finer things in life, and their décor mirrored that. 

Lance found his way to his seat at the top end of the table, pulling it out and collapsing down into it. He hoped his father and Allura would turn up soon, and that lunch would begin. Now that he was paying attention to it, he was starving. Then again, he was always up for eating good food, and the chefs never ceased to impress him. He himself wasn't a horrible cook, but his skills were very easily outshone by the professionals, as they should be.


	2. Important Information: He's Not Happy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Times (from the Paladin's Handbook):  
> deca-phoeb - year  
> phoeb - month  
> movement - week  
> quintant - day  
> varga - hour  
> dobosh - minute  
> tick - a tad longer than a second

Allura was fuming. How dare Zarkon send a message like this? The nerve of him! As if they would agree to send her little brother off to Daibazaal to get married to a Galra! It was absurd. 

When she had been called away from her time with Lance, she'd been expecting the usual. To sit in on a meeting and help put forwards ideas - it was all part of her training to become Queen. Never in a million decaphoebs would she have expected this. It was ridiculous! Her father and Coran both agreed. Some of the other advisors thought they should do it, and were instantly shut down. 

"All I'm saying, your majesty, is that it would be for the best that we do not get Altea involved in this war more than it already is! This is the perfect opportunity to-" The King cut him off, a stern and dangerous glint in his eyes. 

"I understand what you're saying, Waberer, however, we cannot and will not allow Zarkon this win. We _will_ find another way if it takes us the entire two weeks to do it." His voice allowed no room for arguments. 

"Understand this, sir: Lance is barely an adult. The mere _idea_ that we allow him to be married off to the Galra is preposterous! I-" 

"That's enough, Allura." Alfor cut her off, knowing that she would not stop if given the chance. He agreed wholeheartedly with her, but there was no use in wasting their time arguing amongst themselves when they had to come up with a counter-offer for Zarkon. 

It was a varga later when the Alteans left the conference room, still no further than they had been when they entered. Still, they were riled up, so Coran suggested they take lunch to recuperate. It would get them nowhere if they were arguing amongst themselves. 

*** 

Lance had been sat in the dining hall for at least half a varga now - 'nearly ready' my ass, he thought bitterly to himself. He was so bored! With a groan, he slouched forwards and lay his head on the table, glaring at the set of doors the food would be brought through. What was taking them so long? He was starving. 

Just as he was about to get up and leave to harass the kitchen staff (nicely, of course), he heard the other set of doors open. He slowly sat up, watching as Alfor and Allura walked up to the table and took their seats silently. Meal times had always been something that they shared - it was a tradition by now. Unless there was a ball or something of the like, only those three would eat in the dining hall. Everyone else would eat elsewhere. 

"Finally!" He exclaimed. "I'm starving! I've been sat here for at least-" The Prince cut himself off as he noticed the tense atmosphere between the two others. He observed them for a moment, eyes squinted as he tried to figure out what could be wrong with them. "Uh, are you guys okay? It feels like I'm gonna suffocate in the angsty-ness coming off you two right now." He'd never been the best at tact. Allura watched her brother with what looked like a heartbroken expression, and Alfor glared down at the table. His mind was still running a million miles per dobosh. Lance laughed nervously. "What did I do this time?" 

Allura only shook her head, glowering at the table as the servants began to bring food out to them. Lance frowned, his eyebrows furrowing, at their silence. Whatever his sister had been called in for really must've sucked, but he was sure they'd figure it out. They always did. Shrugging off any anxious thoughts he had, he murmured thanks to the staff and began to eat. He wished they'd let him help sometimes, but he'd stopped asking ages ago. It was obvious they didn't want him to. 

The atmosphere all throughout lunch was thick, and they all ate in silence. Occasionally, Allura would catch Lance watching her or their father, and her heart felt heavy. Until they were certain of everything, they had all agreed not to tell Lance what was going on. There was no use causing unnecessary drama, after all. But it took all she had not to cry whenever she looked up at her brother, and so she avoided his eyes. The King was doing the same, it would seem. 

As soon as he had finished eating, Lance excused himself from the table. He had to escape the oppressive tone of the room before he went insane. The moment the doors had closed behind him, Allura looked up at King Alfor with tears in her eyes. 

"Father..." She whispered, her voice wobbling slightly. 

"We will find a way," he said decisively, no room for arguments, before standing and leaving the room as well. Leaving Allura alone. She rubbed at her eyes for a moment and followed after him. They would find a way. 

*** 

It had been a movement. The officials spent quintants at a time in the conference room, trying to find a way to avoid both a war and sending Lance to get married. They had not been successful. Zarkon wouldn't settle for a peace treaty. Their best suggestion had been to disguise someone else and send him in the young prince's place, but everyone agreed that it was far too risky. There was so much that could go wrong. 

And so, they were back at square one. And they were stumped. It was then that King Alfor had, with a heavy heart, admitted defeat. Emperor Zarkon had defeated them. It was then when they had decided to break the news to Lance. 

He had been hanging out with Pidge and Hunk when they got him, stating it was an emergency. The three of them had been baking; he had flour on his cheeks, which were also tinged red from laughing. Pidge had dropped an egg on the floor and then proceeded to slip over it and fall. Her face had been priceless. When Coran entered to retrieve him with a grim expression, their laughter had died down immediately. The advisor and the prince walked from the kitchens to the conference room with matching frowns. It must have been bad if they wanted to speak to _him_ about it, Lance thought. 

Only the King and the Princess had been in the conference room when he and Coran had finally arrived. Sitting down across from them, Lance was confused. 

"What's wrong? What happened?" He asked, their sullen expressions instantly making him think the worst - the Galra were coming, weren't they? They had invaded the North and were headed straight for the castle. Oh, Gods, they'd have to go into hiding, wouldn't they? 

"We called you in here to discuss Zarkon's latest plans. He is to invade if we do not do as he asks," Alfor's voice spoke up, taking in the disheveled appearance of his youngest child, and feeling horrific that he had to break this news. He was but a boy - the smudge of flour on his cheek proved that much. Alfor never wanted him to have to grow up so quickly. 

It took Lance a moment of hesitation, not sure if he wanted to ask. It couldn't be good, whatever it was. Not with the three older people in the room looking at him like _that_. 

"What does he ask?" He asked quietly, swallowing quietly. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. 

"You are to marry his youngest son, in just over a movement." The regret was prominent in his voice. 

It took Lance a dobosh to process that information, his eyes widening in horror. Swallowing (loudly this time), the prince breathed heavily out of his nose. Then, a whisper: 

"What?" 

"I'm so sorry, my son. There is no other way." 

By the Gods, did Allura wish she could take his place. But she was to be the next Queen of Altea, and they couldn't afford to let her go. Alfor looked troubled as he watched his son cry. Lance stared at him numbly, mind still dealing with the information, slowly. 

"There has to be another way. I can't- I mean, even legally, I can't get married! I'm seventeen! You can't- he can't-" Lance was crying, trying to control his breathing so that he didn't start hyperventilating out of panic. 

"Lance, I-" 

"No!" He screamed, standing up from his seat so that it screeched against the floor with the force. "There has to be something else we can do! I don't want to-" Tears were streaming down his face, now. And he was angry. So, so angry. 

"We have exhausted all of the other options. There is nothing to be done. If you do not marry Zarkon's son, you risk losing the lives of millions of our people in a war that can easily be avoided." 

"Easily!" Lance screeched, hands tugging his hair. "You think this is an easy decision to make? What about me or anything I ever wanted, huh? This is my life, you can't just force me to-" 

"I can and I will. You are a Prince, and your duties are first and foremost to your kingdom. You will marry Zarkon's son, and you will be the key to keeping the peace between our people and his." The King had spoken - there was no room for argument. Had hated to do this, hated that it had come to this. He didn't want to be the bad guy, but there was no other way. 

The Prince's face had hopelessly fallen and his piercing blue eyes - usually so alive with mischief - had dimmed to a painful gray. The boy, in all his adolescent glory, turned to storm out the room, and with a crack of his voice he stopped just by the door and spoke before leaving. 

"I hate you." The door slammed behind him.


	3. Les I'm Miserable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: panic attack at the beginning of this chapter.
> 
> Times (from the Paladin's Handbook):  
> deca-phoeb - year  
> phoeb - month  
> movement - week  
> quintant - day  
> varga - hour  
> dobosh - minute  
> tick - a tad longer than a second

As soon as the door slammed shut behind him, he found himself struggling for breath. Still, he had to get away from there. Get away from the monsters that were marrying him off to the Galra. His blood pounded in his ears. His heart thudded in his chest. Tears streamed down his cheeks as if they'd never stop. Stumbling down the corridor, he leaned against the wall halfway to his bedroom and hung his head. He couldn't breathe; Lance felt like he was being choked and he gasped out for breath but couldn't find it. Quiznack, why was this happening to him? Why couldn't he breathe? 

He felt an overwhelming sense of dread - just wanted to lash out and break something - but his legs were like jelly, pins and needles working their way up his arms. His vision was distorted like he was looking at the world through a glass of murky water. He wanted to be sick. Stomach churning, heartbeat speeding up impossibly. He sobbed hard enough that his whole body shook, and he _still_ couldn't breathe. 

It didn't process that he'd collapsed onto his knees until he felt pressure on his shoulders. His head snapped up, tearful eyes wide as he tried to focus on the face in front of him. It was blurry, but it was Hunk. Hunk was safe. In his panicked state, he couldn't remember why he was so worked up. But he needed to stop. He needed to breathe. His vision was darkening at the edges with his frantic breaths, and he focused on his friend's face. He was talking. What was he saying? He couldn't hear him, but his mouth was moving. Why couldn't he hear him? It sounded like he was underwater. 

He was going to pass out. Or, he was close to it. But he focused on Hunk's face. On his mouth. It was still moving. His chest was still heaving. Hunk stopped talking. He was making hand movements. What did _that_ mean? Up and down? Up and dow- breathe. Breathe. He had to breathe. Okay, focus. Breathe. In and out. In and out. 

It was a good five doboshes later when his vision started clearing up, and he felt less like his head had been submerged. He lifted his shaky hands and wiped his eyes, feeling completely drained. His gaze dropped to the floor as his blue eyes filled with tears again. Right. He could remember what had him so upset now, now that he could breathe. Quietly, he sat and cried, then collapsed forwards to sob into Hunk's chest. Why did it have to be him? Why couldn't it be Allura? 

Gods, what was _wrong_ with him? He should be happy it was him and not Allura. Why was he so selfish? 

"Come on, let's get you to your room." Hunk's voice was soft and gentle as he helped him to his feet, his legs shaky and knees feeling like they would give out any minute. When they stood up, he noticed Pidge hovering nearby and gave her a weak smile. She was never any good in these situations, but it was nice that she was there anyway. 

The trio slowly shuffled down the hall: Hunk supporting Lance's weight, Pidge following by their side. Quiet. What on Altea had Lance been told in that meeting? 

The bedroom door clicked shut and Lance toppled into his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Pidge perched on the edge of the mattress, with Hunk mirroring her on the other side of the prince. Quiet. It was at times like this that the Altean was glad the three of them were so close. They knew to give him time, to let him gather his thoughts. Once upon a time, he would never have spilt his worries for fear of burdening others. Not now. Not here, with these two. It was safe. 

"I'm getting married," he whispered, voice cracking as his eyes filled with tears again. He didn't have a choice in the matter. He had no idea whom he was even marrying apart from he was a son of Zarkon. He had just over a movement and he would be married. 

Pidge's head snapped up, staring at Lance in disbelief. The small girl opened her mouth to start yelling, he could tell without even looking at her. Hunk looked confused - eyebrows pinched together and head tilted. Lance spoke up again before either could make a noise. 

"Zarkon, he- he'll invade Altea. If I don't marry one of his sons." He hiccuped, taking a deep breath. Not wanting to start hyperventilating again. "I don't have a choice." 

His voice had been quiet and broken, and it killed his friends. 

"When do you-" 

"That's bullshit! They can't make you do that! You can't even _legally_ get married yet, I mean-" Pidge's voice was shrill and enraged. She wouldn't let her best friend be married off to some random prince for the sake of- of what? Stopping a war? They basically were already at war anyway! 

"I have just over a movement." He cut Pidge off. Defeated and sullen. Eyes lifeless. His father's tone had left no room for argument. He would get married to Zarkon's son in just over a movement, and that was it. The rest of his life was over. "I'll-" He swallowed. "I'll be married in- in just over a movement." 

"No. No! They can't make you do this!" Pidge was insistent. Hunk just stared at Lance quietly, tears in his eyes as he processed the information. "They can't just marry you off for Gods' sake! It's not-" 

"It's not fair." Hunk finally spoke up. A whisper. It wasn't fair. Why should Lance have to be the one to suffer? 

"We already send soldiers off constantly. What're a few more lives?" Pidge had never been very sympathetic to those she wasn't close to. 

"We send soldiers off, Pidge. People who train to fight. Not- not _civilians_." He argued weakly, almost inaudibly, but it was a good point. As much as he didn't want this, would take pretty much anything else over this, he was a prince. He had a duty to his people. Even he could see that, through his devastated mindset. 

"You shouldn't have to trade your life off for someone else's! We don't do that here, Lance. That's not- that's not our way!" She was screeching, tugging at her hair. Her cheeks were red with anger. How _dare_ Zarkon make him do this? She would kill him herself if she ever got in the same vicinity as him. 

He was quiet after that. Accepting of his fate. Destroyed, but accepting. It was his duty. He didn't bother arguing, because it would happen whether they wanted it to or not. 

"There has to be something we can do, Lance. Surely there's _something_ we can do," Hunk begged, looking at him with large eyes. Pidge watched him too, but he didn't look up at them. His eyes were foggy as if he wasn't home. His stare was empty. 

"There isn't." 

*** 

Lance had spent the entire next movement shut away in his quarters, a shell of the boy he'd formerly been. He would stare into space - unsmiling, unmoving, and practically lifeless. Pidge and Hunk stuck around most of the time, managing to get out of their work to keep an eye on the prince. Allura visited him a lot, too. She felt so horrible about it all. Alfor had been only once. He wished to comfort his only son, but had been yelled at and all but thrown out of the room when he tried. 

At least he was eating. The maids would bring trays of food to him; foods he enjoyed the most. Like cake and pasta and steak. They gave him all of his favourites, hoping to bring him back to life at least a little. It didn't work. 

Servants had to force him to bathe and dress well. Tutors came and went to teach him about Galran culture, but they went ignored. His friends would try to talk to him, but he shut them out too, only giving vague and bare responses. He'd be leaving them, soon. He hated that. He hated that he was pushing them all away, but he felt so useless. He _normally_ felt useless, but this was on a whole different level. 

He was getting married to a total stranger, and he had no choice but to say 'I do'. He felt useless that this was what his life had come to. That this was his only use to his kingdom. And sure, it would stop a war from entering the country, but at what cost to him? His entire life would be spent wasting away with a man he didn't and wouldn't love. Surrounded by people he didn't care to get to know. It was far from what he'd imagined it'd be. 

When he thought about his future before, he imagined one where the war had ended. He was able to travel the world as an ambassador for Altea, meeting people of all different cultures and helping their countries get back to their feet. He imagined a future where maybe in his late twenties he would meet a girl on his travels. They would fall in love, have a huge wedding where everyone was invited, and then travel together. They would eventually settle down and have three children, maybe a dog, and grow old together. They would be that couple that was still disgustingly in love even seventy years later when they were old and wrinkly and smelled of old people smell. 

He would never get that now. And sure, maybe he had set himself up for failure all those years ago when he thought up his life plan. Maybe it was unrealistic, but now he'd never know. He'd never get to find out. 

He hated the sitting around and waiting for his demise to come, but he hated it more when it actually came. 

The Galran guards had arrived at around noon that day and were set to leave the next morning. It would take three quintants to arrive at the castle in Daibazaal. Which meant three quintants spent cramped in a carriage. It would be luxurious, and plush, and everything his room here was, but... It would lead him to his doom. The first time he was allowed out of his country and it was to be married off to a Galra. 

Just his luck. 

They forced him out of his quarters for dinner. It was yet another formality to show hospitality to their guests. Lance didn't get it. These soldiers were here to take him away to his own personal war, and he had to eat dinner with them? Quiznacking brilliant. _Thanks, dad_. 

He was surprised to see that the guards there to take him away weren't all Galra. They still couldn't be trusted, of course. No matter how polite the humans' manners were, or how frighteningly _friendly_ they seemed. Lance wished they wouldn't act like that. He'd take cold and scary over kind smiles and intrigued glances. He'd rather not think of the Galra (or anyone who worked on their side) as people, thanks. 

Dinner was tense, to say the least. 

"I'll make up part of your personal guard back in Daibazaal, your highness. It's a pleasure to meet you, despite the circumstances being... Less than ideal." Oh, one of them was talking to him. A human one, with no discernible Galran characteristics. Why were _humans_ working for the Galra anyway? Hadn't Earth been occupied and turned into a satellite state of Daibazaal years ago? Why would a human want to work for the monsters that enslaved their entire race? 

He stared at the tanned man blankly for a few moments, before continuing to eat. The guy sighed quietly - he and Shiro had volunteered to come to try and provide at least some friendly faces to the Altean prince. Try to ease his worries at least a little. It obviously wasn't working. The boy was impossibly closed off. It was understandable, he thought. It was upsetting, really. Really upsetting. 

"My name is Adam. It'll be partly my responsibility to make sure you remain safe when we arrive back at the castle," he tried again. He received mostly the same response: a blank, mistrusting glare. The young prince had raised an eyebrow now, though. 

"You wouldn't need to worry if I was allowed to stay here. Unlike Daibazaal, it's safe," he spat back bitterly. The guard - Adam, Lance's mind supplied - nodded awkwardly at that and turned back to his food. He didn't know how to reply. _Good_ , Lance thought. He didn't want to talk to his captors. No, not at all. 

*** 

He didn't sleep a wink. Normally he relied on at least 9 varga to be able to function properly, but he estimated he only got around two last night. The bags under his eyes were a rare sight, too. Even in the past movement, he had been sleeping enough, not wanting his appearance to suffer in spite of his anguish. His image was something he took great pride in. 

He didn't eat breakfast. He felt too ill, not wanting to throw it all back up in the carriage. That would be embarrassing. 

For the first time in a movement, Lance let himself cry. He didn't want to say goodbye. 

Hunk and Pidge were first. They were his best friends, and he had no idea when he'd see them again. The wedding was being held by the Galra, and they were just workers. They weren't allowed to go. He hugged them both tightly, red-eyed and sniffling. 

"I'm gonna miss you both so much," he whispered into Hunk's chest. If his heart felt broken before, it hurt even more now. He wished he hadn't pushed them away this past movement. By the Gods, would he miss them. 

Pidge held her tongue. She wanted to scream and yell still and was angry that Lance didn't. Angry that this was even happening in the first place. But it was, and there was nothing she could do about it. She squeezed him tightly. 

"I slipped a little something into one of your big bags," she whispered into his ear, before pulling away and taking a shaky breath. 

"We'll call you every day. I promise," Hunk said with tears running down his face and snot dangerously close to joining them. He didn't want to let his best friend go. Wanted to cling on to him and go with. Any way to keep them all together, and keep him happy. 

Lance nodded to both of them, pulling back. He ran his eyes across both of them in the hopes of memorising what they looked like now. He had pictures, but it was never really the same. 

"Don't miss me too much," he teased quietly, though the tears kept pouring. Then, he turned. His heart squeezed painfully as he left their sides. 

Allura and his father were next. 

He hadn't quite forgiven his father for going through with this, but he knew it wasn't his really his fault. He swallowed, holding the King at a distance he hadn't for a long time. The tension between them was clear, but so was the love. They'd always been a close family, especially after his and Allura's mother died. 

After a few moments of awkward staring, Alfor stepped forwards and swept his child into his arms. He wouldn't be at the wedding either. Couldn't leave things in Altea for that long. It was the same with Allura. 

"I'm so sorry, my son. I'm so sorry," he murmured into Lance's hair, pressing a kiss to the top of his head and squeezing him tightly before letting go. "I love you. Never forget that." 

Allura couldn't wait any longer. She barraged into Lance and they laughed watery laughs at the roughness. They were holding on to each other for the longest time, crying silently. Then, they were separated. The Altean prince looked over at Adam and then stepped away. He squeezed his eyes closed as he entered the carriage, and the doors closed with a mechanical hiss. The guards entered through a separate door, and when it closed, it lifted into the air. 

They were off, and for the first time in his life, Lance was truly alone.


	4. I Should've Stayed in Bed

It had been early morning when he left home, sitting in the back of a carriage with his arms wrapped around himself. He stared out of the window, pulse racing, as the castle slowly faded into the distance. He was alone. It was like a darkness creeping up on him, consuming him and stealing his warmth. Despite the heating within the carriage, he was frozen. 

The vehicle was large - practically a small house, split into a section for him and a section for the guards. It was a taste of what was to come: dark purple furnishings set among even darker walls and floor. He was bitter to find himself being the brightest thing in the small cabin, the whites of his attire starkly contrasting to the interior. 

He didn’t like it. It was dark and oppressive, not to mention depressing. Certainly, it didn’t help his current state of mind, that was for sure. It did, however, reflect it well. 

The hole that had opened in his chest was gaping. Bleeding and oozing. Panic gripped at the corners of his mind, but he tried to stay strong, forcefully taking deep breaths. He didn’t want another incident like the day he’d been told of his fate. Here, he had no one to help him through it. He had no one. 

Many varga must have passed as he continued circling in his mind, thoughts of bitterness and despair and self-pity causing an ever-going battle to stay calm. His breathing was a little ragged, but nothing he couldn’t control if he put his mind to it. (And what a large if that was.) 

Shiro knocked on the door to the other cabin, wanting to check in on the Altean prince, and said prince’s head snapped up. He blinked a few times, trying to calm his heart-rate. It was hard with the thoughts still spiralling, but he took a few gulps of air and straightened his posture. 

“Come in,” he called in a cold voice, staring ahead of him with (what he hoped) was a blank expression. He glanced back to the door when it slid open, his arms folded across his chest as he watched one of the humans from earlier enter the room. 

“Good day, your highness,” he said at first, regarding Lance kindly despite the distrusting look he was giving out as he eyed up the Galra arm. “My apologies that you don’t have more room. Unfortunately, the larger craft are much slower than these ones, and the Emperor thought it was imperative that we arrive as soon as possible.” 

Lance’s gaze returned to the wall, and he shrugged. He hadn’t so much as looked around the rest of the carriage yet, too caught up in himself to care. Because in all honesty, he was terrified. He had no one and was being sent into an unfamiliar country to get married to a stranger. Alone. No Coran, no Allura, no father, and no Pidge and Hunk. 

Shiro seemed to pick up on this, though. And there he was, thinking his acting skills were up to par. Clearly, he needed more practice because panic and anxiety were all but rolling off him. Suffocating in the room. 

For a moment, Shiro said nothing else. The dobosh dragged on until he finally found the right words. 

“Prince Lance,” he began, carefully and slowly. He didn’t want to overstep a boundary, not sure how this royal would react to a guard - a servant - speaking to him in such a way. “I understand that this must be hugely difficult for you, but I can assure you that no harm will come of you while you’re under our care. Both here and in Daibazaal.” 

Lance scoffed, his stare swiftly turning to a glare. He didn’t give a quiznack what this guy said. He was probably lying. False trust could go a long way. 

“I understand what it feels like, being ripped from your home. It’s daunting, but I promise that we will make sure you have everything you need.” 

“Oh, yeah? And what would you know about it?” Lance snapped. He stood up, turned, and stormed into the little bedroom he’d been given. Locking the door behind him. Why should he stay and listen to such lies? 

This room was just as dark and oppressive as the last, and after a moment, the anger bled out of him. Heaving a heavy sigh, Lance picked at the material of his robes. He didn’t know what to do with himself. It took him a few moments, but he perched on the edge of the bed. Stared at the wall. The loneliness was crushing, pushing at him from all four sides and trapping him. He almost couldn’t breathe. 

*** 

It took three quintants to arrive at the castle in Daibazaal. Lance didn’t speak to anyone, instead locking himself away in the little bedroom and eating whatever bland meal he was brought (they were probably not actually bland, but everything tasted a little like plain mashed potato to him at that time), leaving it outside the locked door after finishing. The guards had tried to speak to him again, tried to reassure them, but he’d yelled. And then cried after they left. And then felt empty again. Void of anything. 

The closer they had got to the castle, the sicker Lance felt. He swallowed thickly when the ship landed. The Altean didn’t think he could do it - didn’t want to do it. The moment he stepped off the craft, there was no going back. He knew it was an illusion, but perhaps if he never left the little bedroom then he wouldn’t have to follow through with this. 

His illusion was shattered when the door was unlocked from the outside - apparently, they’d been able to do that the whole time, but decided not too because it was ‘impolite’ or some bullshit. Either way, Lance was bitter. The door opened five ticks after someone knocked, and Adam opened it, a sympathetic smile on his face as he took in the (probably rather pathetic) sight of the young prince. 

Lance wanted to trust him. Warm brown eyes and a reassuring smile, as if he knew how much Lance did not want to do this. Still, he was the enemy. He would not allow himself to fall for such tricks, as it would only end in his ultimate demise. 

Okay, maybe he was being a tad overdramatic, but the point still stood! 

Stepping out of the ship, Prince Lance’s heart was in his throat. Pulse racing, throat tightening, hands shaking. He clenched them at his sides, taking shaky breaths. He was to be married tomorrow, and every step closer to the castle felt like a step closer to hell. 

The waiting was worse. Instead of having an audience with the emperor, like he’d been expecting, he was escorted to a bedroom and left to his own devices. With a sense of ever-growing foreboding, it felt like his destiny truly was sealed. There was not even a chance of turning back now. He was stuck. 

Tomorrow, he was getting married to the youngest son of Emperor Zarkon - a man he didn’t even know the name of. 

*** 

A group of maids came into the room not long after he’d finished picking at his food. The Altean stared at them numbly, watching as they hustled around the room. Placing things down on the vanity opposite the bed. Soon, they took Lance by the shoulders and escorted him to the adjoining bathroom, where the bath was full. 

For a moment, it was like he was home, and his heart ached. But he was no fool. The water might have smelled like juniberries, but the bath itself was black. The rest of the bathroom was made up of similar shades. It felt like he was in a prison. 

Lance jumped when the maids touched him, beginning to strip him off. He didn’t flinch any further, merely letting them do their jobs. He hadn’t been bathed by someone else since he was twelve, but clearly, he wasn’t getting a choice in the matter. They would have asked if he needed help otherwise. 

Stepping into the bath, he sunk down, closed his eyes, and let himself have a moment of peace. It was ruined when water was splashed over his head and he spluttered, coughing. What the quiznack?! 

Lance wiped the water from his face, sitting bolt upright and glaring at the culprit. “Hey, watch it!” He exclaimed, bitterness and anger leaking into his voice. First, he was brought to a different country alone, and now they were trying to drown him! What was _wrong_ with these people? 

It was what felt like a millennium later when they left him. He thought he had excellent beauty standards, but apparently, it wasn’t good enough. Lance had always taken great care of his skin. He kept his eyebrows and other body hair well groomed, and his nails were perfect little ovals. Now, he felt like he had less hair than a baby. It hadn’t hurt at least - they’d used some form of laser to trim his body of hair. Still, he hadn’t thought it would’ve mattered. Most Galra were literally covered in hair! How come he wasn’t allowed to have any? At least the hair on his head was fluffy, he thought bitterly. 

Examining his nails, he found that they’d been painted black. Why was completely beyond him. He would be wearing traditional Altean attire for the ceremony tomorrow. Black just wouldn’t go. He sat on the edge of the bed, fingers smoothing out a crease in the bedsheets, before throwing himself backwards. Tears sprung to his eyes and he buried his face into a purple pillow, chest heaving with sobs. 

He hated this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this took ages and I kind of hate it but it's all I have so here you go I guess. It's also really short. Oops. Soz.
> 
> That being said school is kicking my ass so apologies in advance for my complete lack of any form of writing/uploading schedule. 
> 
> Next chapter will be better!


	5. He’s Like Art. Terrible Art, But Still, Art.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: panic attacks

Early morning came, and Lance was startled out of sleep by a hand shaking his shoulder. He couldn’t remember falling asleep, but he might as well have stayed up the whole night—he was exhausted. Blinking his eyes open with a scowl, Lance sat up and glared at the Galran maids shuffling around his room. Why were they waking him so early?

When his sleep-clouded mind finally caught up to reality, he froze, breath catching in his throat. It was today. He was getting married today. Swallowing thickly, blue eyes that were wide open blinked rapidly. He had to calm down. If his... husband... saw how freaked he was, he could use it against him. And that would not be good. Galra were evil and cruel.

Being pulled from his bed, Lance only had time to cry out a protesting ‘hey!’ before he was being stripped and pushed into another bath. Another fifteen minutes and he was being dried, sat at a dressing table, and having make-up applied. He felt violated, having not been allowed to do anything himself. Unfamiliar hands touching his naked body was not pleasant. He was covered head-to-toe in a shimmery powder, and he had no idea what it was even for, but it made him glow. In the light, his skin sparkled gold, and if this were for any other occasion he would call it beautiful.

It was dull, though, now. He didn’t want it on.

Gold eyeliner came next, and he was sure the maids wanted to poke his eyes out. Clear lipgloss, mascara, and he was done. Then came his attire. It was exquisite; typical traditional Altean wedding robes. Blue and white, with gold accents. A translucent, light blue cape was secured around his shoulders with a gold button. It glimmered when it moved.

Finally jewellery, everything gold. Multiple earrings, some connected by thin, dangling chains. A hoop in his nose and a bar through his eyebrow. Nothing on his lips, despite the multiple opportunities. Necklaces: at least six that he counted, short and long, some simple chains and others with precious gems embedded. A thick and heavy choker. An armlet on his left arm, and plain bracelets on his wrists - similar to the choker. They were like handcuffs, in his opinion. No rings on his left hand, but two on his right, one with a large blue crystal. Lastly, a diadem placed carefully on his meticulously styled hair. Another azure gemstone.

It took what felt like years, and in the end, Lance thought it was all completely over the top. He looked more like a trophy than a groom, and- well, he was, really, wasn’t he? It was all so heavy, and the choker felt restricting on his neck, the bracelets restricting the movement of his wrists. He really was a prisoner, and these were definitely supposed to symbolise that.

Or maybe he was just overthinking it. Right?

The wait was long and tedious. He was given a plate of suspicious-looking food (in reality, it was just normal food, but Lance was wearing the exact opposite of rose-coloured glasses). Eating just enough so that he wouldn’t faint, Lance sat perched on the edge of the bed.

Looking into the mirror, again. The bags under his eyes had been covered amazingly well, he had to give that to them. And the simple makeup really was elegant. His attire was what he’d always dreamed of wearing for his wedding day. The jewellery was definitely overkill. Made him look like a prize. He hated it. And the black nail polish really did not match.

The door slammed open, and Lance stood, eyes wide in alarm. The person who’d entered was Galra, and closed the door quickly behind himself, locking it. Lance stayed on full alert, not taking his eyes from the intruder. Heart pounding. Said Galra stared at Lance for a moment, and Lance stared back, neither saying a word. Until:

“Who the hell are you?!”

The Galra bristled but stayed by the door. Arms crossing over his chest angrily.

“I thought you’d be more grateful to meet your husband before the actual wedding,” he snapped, glaring. Lance glared back.

“It would’ve been great if you’d knocked instead of barging in. Or do they not teach you manners here?” Great, Lance thought. His husband was a dick. He didn’t know why he was so upset by that, though. He’d expected it - the guy was Galra, after all.

“We’re not supposed to meet until the ceremony, dumbass. I couldn’t exactly linger outside.” With a huff, the Galra rolled his eyes. They weren’t like the usual yellow of Galra eyes, but had a purple iris and a pupil. Weird.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” Lance all but screeched, scoffing. “Considering you’ll be marrying me in the next few hours, I’d expect you to at least try and make an effort at being nice.”

“I’m the one who came here to meet you! How is that not being nice? Unless you wanted to go in completely blind?” The Galra was angry. Whoops. Lance was too, though, so as far as he was concerned, they were even.

“You barged in here unannounced and I still don’t know your name because you seem hell-bent on yelling at me! Great first impression, by the way,” Lance retorted, folding his own arms over his chest.

The Galra breathed heavily out of his nose, quiet for a few seconds and Lance wondered what the hell was going through his head. They weren’t even allowed to see each other until the ceremony. Was he trying to get both of them into trouble?

“I’m Keith,” he murmured, staring at Lance as his anger seemingly dissipated. Tension still clung to his shoulders, but it looked like he was trying. So that was... something.

“Lance.”

***

Keith had left as soon as he’d arrived, and Lance was completely confounded. And even more upset. He didn’t get along with the person he was supposed to marry. In all honesty, he hadn’t expected to get along, but they’d been arguing. Arguing was never good. Anything was better than arguments.

He was on the verge of a panic attack for another good varga until guards came to take him to the end of his life. Adam had entered the room after knocking, complimented Lance, and offered a reassuring smile. It all made the Altean feel even sicker. The guard didn’t exactly seem fake or anything, but his vision was deluded with negativity; anything and everything was bad in Lance’s mind. Gold chains weighing him down like shackles. He wanted to throw up.

Guards surrounded him as soon as he left the room, and his stomach fell. His heart in his throat as they walked to face his demise. He couldn’t do this. Oh Gods, he couldn’t do it. He would do anything for his people—anything but this. This was too much. He- he couldn’t. Walking, his legs were like jelly and he was surprised he didn’t fall. Vision blurring and going dark at the edges as he struggled to pull oxygen into his lungs. Quiznack. Not again.

It was only when Adam turned did Lance realise he’d stopped walking. Eyes wide, breathing erratic, hands shaking. Tears streaming down his cheeks. Adam leaned down the slightest, to Lance’s height. He did not touch him. Just spoke, quietly, calmly. Although the guard didn’t really understand, he knew it must have been terrifying. The prince had been sent to unfamiliar territory to marry someone he’d never met just because the Emperor said so. Because otherwise there’d be a war that Altea probably couldn’t win alone.

Yeah, it was understandable.

Lance was screaming. Not out loud, of course, but in his head. He didn’t want this. He didn’t. He wanted anything but. He’d prefer shooting himself into the sun than this, thank you very much. But he couldn’t. He was frozen. Rooted to the spot. And he couldn’t breathe. Quiznack.

It took the most part of twenty doboshes to calm Lance down. No doubt they’d be late for the ceremony, now. They’d probably kill him for it. Galra were savage, anyway. They’d make him marry and then kill him off. Or they’d lock him in a dungeon and make him eat maggot-infested cheese for the rest of his life, and off milk. Maybe they’d-

A guard was pressing him forwards, now that his breathing had returned to some semblance of normal. He stumbled on, caught himself, and somehow managed to move with his usual grace, despite his spiralling thoughts.

Keith. He was marrying Keith. The guy he argued with on their first ever meeting. The guy who broke the rules to meet him before their wedding. A Galra.

Dark double doors loomed above him like gates to hell. Soon, they’d open, and he’d be forced to walk down the aisle to marry death himself.

...maybe he was being a little overdramatic.

Who could blame him, though, really? It wasn’t exactly the best situation to be in, and he hadn’t even had a choice. He could fight and scream but in the next hour he’d be married, and if he wasn’t he’d likely be killed and Zarkon would go to war with Altea. Great.

Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself. He could do this. Lance didn’t want to die, and he didn’t want his people to die due to his selfish actions. He had to do this. Maybe once they were married he could convince Keith to let them go live in Altea. Hopefully. Probably not, but he was trying to be positive now.

Truth was, Lance had no idea what to expect when he entered through those doors. Altea weddings were huge events, gigantic celebrations of love and life. He didn’t know about Galra weddings (he hadn’t paid attention to his tutors when they told him, too busy pitying himself). Either way, he didn’t want to be seen as weak, so a shaking and snivelling Lance would not do.

He took a deep breath, clenching his fists hard, and the doors opened. Here we go.

The room was silent.

Lance exhaled, glancing to the side at Adam. He nodded, and Lance took a step forwards. And another, and another. His fingernails dug into his palms hard enough that they probably drew blood. The sting was grounding, though. Stopping him from plunging into another downward spiral. If he didn’t think, he wouldn’t panic.

The room was probably grand. It was big, he could tell that much. But his vision was tunnelling and he just focused on getting to the other side of the aisle. Lance didn’t have to look around to know that the decorations and décor were as dark as the rest of everything in Daibazaal.

The room was silent. Eerie. Like a scene from a horror film that Pidge made them watch because she was evil and liked to scare them. Eyes following him like hawks that he tried to ignore, lest he be hunted down and eaten.

He made it. After what felt like a deca-phoeb, he had made it, pausing at the end of the aisle. His eyes looked up. Keith.

Keith looked a little different than he had before. A silver crown sat atop his unruly hair and it actually looked good. His purple eyes seemed to glow in the light, and dark armour clung to his body like a second skin. Showing off all his best assets. Without his clouded mind clouding his vision, he could say that Keith wasn’t unattractive. Maybe not his type, but... definitely hot. For a Galra.

Keith’s eyes were looking down at him as well. If it weren’t for their disastrous first meeting, Lance might’ve got his hopes up. Because Keith was hot. Like, really hot. Unfortunately for him, they’d already spoken, and the illusion had been shattered long before he’d been able to create it.

Stubbornly, he turned his gaze to the minister as soon as the two princes made eye contact. Hot or not, Keith was a dick. A mean, angry dick. How gross.

With a quiet sigh, Lance’s nails dug further into the skin of his palms. Hands shaking. He didn’t want to marry Keith, but he had no choice.

The official was looking at him expectantly, and Lance blinked. What had she said? He wasn’t- he hadn’t been paying attention. Too lost in his own thoughts. He blinked, mouth opening.

“What?” He whispered, voice shaky. The minister glared (or he thought she did, at least. It was hard to tell with Galra and their completely yellow eyes).

“I said, repeat after me.” Her voice was hard and kind of sounded pissed off. It was terrifying, and Lance swallowed. Had Keith already done this, or was he first?

Lance did not pay attention to what he was saying. She could have said any ridiculous bullshit and he’d have copied. He just made the same sounds as she did without investing the thought to realise what it was he was actually saying. He just knew he was signing his life away. What difference did knowing the words make?

When she was done, he glanced to Keith. The Galra was turned to him now, and he realised he should do the same. He turned stiffly. They exchanged rings.

Keith slid a simple gold band onto the finger of his bare left hand. It was heavy; more shackles. Keith’s fingers hadn’t shaken. He seemed pretty put together. Apparently, it was just Lance that was nervous (or terrified. Take your pick). Lance put a thin silver ring on Keith’s larger hand.

They turned back to the minister. She spoke for another phoeb and then Lance was jolted out of his head by a loud noise. Oh. The people watching were clapping. Was it over? They hadn’t kissed. They were supposed to, right? Or did Galra weddings not so that? He didn’t know if he was relieved or not.

He didn’t want to kiss Keith, but they—he swallowed—were married now. If they kissed here, were forced to, it would at least get it over with.

Keith bowed to the guests, and Lance followed his lead. And then Keith was grabbing his wrist and leading him to the side. There was a door, he noticed, and he was pulled through. It slammed behind him. What the hell? Glaring at Keith, Lance pulled his wrist away.

They were in a room.

(‘No shit,’ Lance thought to himself. Idiot.)

It was, as expected, darkly furnished. On the small side, though. A couch pushed under a window, a coffee table in front of it, and a low-hanging chandelier. It was dimly lit. 

“What the hell?”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Thanks for reading. Feel free to let me know of any errors and offer constructive criticism, love, and kudos. Please bear with me - updates may be slow!


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